Malum's eyes snapped open.
A violent gasp tore from his throat as his chest heaved, lungs burning as if they had forgotten how to breathe. His body jolted upright on instinct, muscles screaming as cold stone met bare flesh. The heat—that unbearable, searing heat—was gone. Replaced by a biting chill so sharp it stabbed straight into his bones.
White mist poured from his lips with every frantic breath, evaporating instantly into the frozen air.
He froze, heart pounding, then looked down at himself.
Malum patted over his chest, his sides, his arms—searching for wounds that should have been there. The scorched flesh, the torn skin, the agony that had swallowed him whole only moments ago… all of it was gone. His body was intact. Untouched.
Alive.
That realization sent a fresh wave of unease crawling up his spine.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze.
Now stood in the center of a circular cell, its walls made of ancient stone bricks worn smooth by time. The structure felt impossibly old, as though it had existed long before memory itself. Frost clung to the cracks between stones, and the air shimmered faintly with cold.
This was no land he recognized.
Malum rose to his feet, his movements cautious. The temperature gnawed at his skin, each step echoing faintly against the enclosing walls. He approached the metal bars that sealed the cell, their surface rusted, jagged, and coated in ice. When he reached out to touch them, pain flared instantly—sharp and electric, jerking his hand back as the cold bit deep into his fingertips.
Frozen. Enchanted, perhaps.
The cell smelled of damp stone and stagnant water, like a place where nothing ever truly dried. Somewhere above, a single pale light filtered down through unseen cracks, barely illuminating the prison. Shadows clung stubbornly to the corners, thick and watchful.
Where am I?
The question echoed inside his skull.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall what had happened—what had led him here. The last clear image burned vividly behind his eyelids: Moloch. That final, dying gaze. The pain that had ripped through him—
His head throbbed violently.
Fragments surfaced—blurry flashes, distorted and fleeting. Voices. The memories slipped away the moment he tried to grasp them, replaying like a broken montage.
"What was that…?"
Malum shook his head hard, as if he could physically dislodge the fog clouding his thoughts. Whatever it was, it felt important. Crucial. And yet it remained maddeningly out of reach.
Then laughter echoed through the chamber. It reverberated off the stone walls, smooth and amused, carrying an unmistakable note of delight.
Malum stiffened instantly, his senses snapping to attention as his eyes darted around the cell. He knew that laugh.
A figure emerged from the shadows beyond the bars, footsteps unhurried, almost leisurely. A man in a pristine black tuxedo strolled into view, hands tucked casually into his pockets as he circled the cell. His presence alone felt wrong—too calm, too confident, as if the very world bent subtly around him.
Malum's lips curled into a scowl.
"Satan."
The name drew a snicker.
"Oh, my brother Karita. Long time no see. I must admit, I didn't expect to see you… in here."
The man replied smoothly, his voice dripping with mock warmth. He stopped in front of the bars and flicked one with a finger. The metallic clang rang sharply through the cold air, vibrating endlessly.
Malum stepped closer, eyes blazing with barely restrained irritation.
"Where am I? What is this place?"
His tone was stern, clipped—laced with the annoyance of someone who had no desire to entertain this reunion. If he never saw Iblis again, it would be too soon.
Iblis tilted his head slightly, brows lifting in genuine—or perhaps feigned—surprise.
"Oh? You don't remember? That's disappointing. You begged me to save you, you know. Quite desperately, too. Hahaha."
Malum exhaled slowly, deeply. Clearly, he remembered nothing of the sort.
"Don't joke around. I don't have the patience for your games. What happened?"
He snapped with arms crossed, posture rigid. One stood imprisoned behind frozen bars; the other stood free, relaxed, undeniably in control. The prisoner and the captor.
"Oh, nothing much," Iblis replied lightly. "I just had to fish you out of Hell and cool your body down for a while."
He said it as if he were discussing a minor inconvenience.
Malum stared at him.
"…Understandable. But a prison?"
Iblis raised both hands in mock surrender.
"Hey, hey—don't blame me. I didn't want to touch your body, and neither did my devils. It was freakishly hot. So we tossed you into this ice prison instead."
He grinned, eyes glinting.
"And look at you now—already chilling around. Get it? Hahaha!"
Malum pinched the bridge of his nose, utterly unamused. The laughter echoed far too loudly in the enclosed space.
"Okay. That's enough. Let me out. You've had your fun."
The laughter stopped, and Iblis fell silent, his expression shifting into something sharper, more contemplative. He brought a finger to his chin, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Malum.
"Not really. There's something I've been wondering."
He leaned closer to the bars, shadows stretching unnaturally behind him.
"What made my hateful little brother finally turn to me for help? A brother who so persistently avoids and despises me."
His eyes darkened, pupils dilating until they resembled endless voids—judgmental, ancient, and unforgiving.
Malum hesitated.
He knew better than to tell Iblis the truth. That his reason had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with another vessel. Another fragile piece of clay Iblis despised.
He scoffed instead, rolling his eyes.
"I'm not your little brother, bastard."
The insult only delighted Iblis, whose laughter once more filled the chamber.
"There it is. The Karita I know. So feisty. So ignorant. So selfish."
His words are rather coy.
"What is it that you want from me? You didn't come back from Hell and beg for salvation just for fun. You wouldn't return there willingly—certainly not by dying."
His gaze bored into Malum, calculating.
"I already know you're hiding something."
His grin widened, sharp and knowing. Malum clenched his jaw.
He knows. About Ene. After all, he had been the one keeping tabs on my vessels, just how he drove some of them to madness and their deaths. He's always watching.
So how, Malum wondered, staring into the Fallen Angel's abyssal eyes, was he supposed to outwit the devil who already knew his sins?